


Justice for the Pseudo-Innocent

by Exorciststuck



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boku no Hero Academia au, M/M, Mentions of Canonical Abuse, Quirk Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorciststuck/pseuds/Exorciststuck
Summary: Who would have guessed the easiest way to disrupt a master criminal's plans would be to fall in love with his unwilling child prodigy?





	Justice for the Pseudo-Innocent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harveychan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harveychan/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARVEY *confetti canon explosion* ily

At your time in UA, there was always one thing that would make your teachers cower under your gaze, the same way they would look just slightly away whenever a reporter asked a particularly tricky question during a press conference. 

“If we’re so good at defeating evil, why does it keep coming back?”

Usually, they would reply with the same sort of eye-rollingly cheesy bullshit that got the you of your childhood excited. ‘Oh, it’s just that evil is always jealous of goodness, it always comes back when times are good, but us heroes will always save the day because good triumphs!’ or, for those that thought you were a particularly pessimistic young hero, they shared their own brand of philosophical bullshit, ‘evil and goodness exist together, neither can exist without the other’.

In the end, you’d decided that heroes just weren’t doing a good enough job. Bogged down in administrative routines, shying away from sharing the truth with civilians, always afraid someone would say “you haven’t done good enough,” not because it was unfair and cruel, but because it was true: the heroes of today and their quirks, honed to perfection through years of training, were not protecting the people they were obligated to. You still remember what made you realise that.

You were 16, still a plucky faced new freshman at UA, and you and some of your classmates had decided to go study together. It’d been a nice day and the library wasn’t far from UA, so you’d chosen to walk, talking passively about how hard the classes were and how cool it was to actually be in hero school. You’d felt the ground trembling before you’d seen much, bracing yourselves, and when you’d looked up there were two figures standing on a highrise in the distance, beside the crumbling remains of the city bank. One of them a grown man, standing tall and looking smugly down on the fearful crowd scrambling for cover. The other, younger. Your age. And though you were far away and could not yet see the look of resigned despair on his face, there was not a doubt in your mind that he was someone who needed saving.

But your teachers—all pro heroes—could not save him, no matter how much you asked. ‘We have to apprehend the villain first,’ they’d said, which annoyed you. He’d been right there, he’d escaped, and now nobody could find him? Even worse was the teachers who quietly suggested that perhaps the young boy had some sort of age regression quirk, that he was there willingly, that you were being tricked by someone who didn’t even know you existed. It made your blood boil, to think a hero would jump to such a cruel conclusion. What happened to hope? To the goodness of people?

Years passed and you became focused on this boy. The adult of the pair had struck several more times, each increasingly more high stakes but also increasingly erratic. Banks had their vaults pried open, restaurants had their rarest and most expensive ingredients pulled from their kitchens, museums reported missing priceless pieces of history and art, and several innocent civilians lost their lives. Yet, they got away each time, seemingly disappearing from sight in the blink of an eye. 

It must have been a super speed quirk, you thought, that the adult villain had. But what of the child? Did he have super speed too, or was he being given the power by the villain somehow? You could only guess, never having managed to catch them at the scene of the crime ever again, only gathering your information through photographs and video taken by civilians and reporters.

This boy became your obsession, and that was how you’d ended up where you were at this moment. Flat on your ass, your nose leaking blood and your gut burning from where you’d been kicked, staring at your own reflection through the lens of some oversized sunglasses, the tip of a katana pressed threateningly to your throat. 

You were almost certain now that he had a speed quirk, you’d never had a fight end so quickly. And you should have been scared, lying on the ground with painful injuries, a young hero facing off against a villain who’d been successfully evading capture for years. But you couldn’t keep the broad grin from spreading across your face, one hand coming up to gently grip the blade near your skin. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

==>

You’d never wanted a quirk. As a child, you’d been acutely aware of the fact that if you had a quirk, you Bro would be able to mould you in his vision of hatred and greed. At night you’d lay in bed and wish as hard as you could that you’d be one of that statistical few born without a quirk in a society of quirks, that you’d be abandoned on the street and make your living sweeping the floors of a kind old lady’s ramen shop, and that when she would pass away her selfish business man of a son would be replaced in the will by you, and you’d become the proud owner of a humble restaurant in a sleepy seaside town. 

But your dream was never meant to be. Like most children, at the age of four you woke up with a quirk. To your horror, not only did it exist, but it was potent and powerful. Even so young, you understood that this was not something to be proud about, and while the memory was hazy you still recalled sobbing for hours with the realisation that for as long as Bro lived, you would be his weapon, and even when he died your reputation would be unsalvageable—heroes never forgot. 

He was brutal in the way family should never be, pushing you to your physical limits before you could even properly read. Hidden away, nobody knew what you were going through, no heroes ever heard you cry at night, saw you pick yourself up off the ground and nurse your wounds after a strife, felt your bones ache as you were forced to freeze time for longer and longer intervals. 

Your first successful act of villainy was when you were sixteen, and from there it never stopped. You were strong, impossibly so, and with the ability to freeze time for a full thirty seconds you made sure every escape was spotless and every fight was over before it’d even began. 

But you’d never expected to be caught when you were alone. It was just a small heist, more like a grocery shop without the part where you paid for the groceries, and it was supposed to be easy. But Bro had sneered and told you to find your own way back after you’d dropped his carton of eggs on the ground. (As if he really thought being away from him was a punishment. Ha! You’d have run then and there, if you weren’t convinced he’d find you and turn you in to the authorities as the villain behind millions of dollars of damages and several lost lives.) 

Foolishly, you’d assumed the darkening sky would hide your identity as long as you stuck to the alleys, that a red and black hoodie and oversized aviators wasn’t a recognizable enough outfit to get you in trouble. You supposed you were lucky that rather than striking you from behind and knocking you out, you’d been lifted easily into the air by an invisible force, held and forced to turn to face your captor. 

Still tired from your earlier time with Bro, it’d taken most of your energy to muster up your quirk, freezing time. You’d fallen once the wind froze, breathing hard as you hit the ground and forced yourself through the motions of a one-sided fight. Kick them in the stomach, unsheathe your sword, hold them at the end of your blade. It went quickly, so that when time had sped back up around you you saw the way his eyes widened in surprise. 

His hands gripped lightly onto the blade a moment later, (stupid, you thought, doesn’t he know you could slice his hand right off?), and a terrifyingly large smile split his cheeks. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“What?” You tensed up, pulling back from him in a panic. “Why? Who are you?”

“My name is Windbreaker, the windy hero, and I’m going to save you!”

Save you? You felt sick to your stomach at the thought of some twerp of a kid assuming you needed saving, and more than a little worried that he had somehow figured out both what you looked like well enough to recognize you and that you weren’t one hundred percent sold on the whole villain thing. “I don’t need saving.”

With your blade not pressed to his throat anymore, you watched this hero stand, brushing himself easily off. “Are you sure? You look pretty sad about being a villain, I don’t think you are one. If you were kidnapped or blackmailed or something, I can help you.” He shifted, like he was going to step closer to you, and you bristled, quick to back up. 

“You don’t know anything! I’m evil, I love being a fucking criminal!” You felt panic rise in your chest, cold and hard and almost paralyzing. And under that, you found yourself a little concerned if you stayed much longer you’d let the promise of help drag you away from where you had to be. It was overwhelming and awful and you were a _villain_ , for fucks sake, you couldn’t be seen near a hero, you couldn’t risk backup coming, and that was what gave you the ability to make a run for it.

You sprinted as far as your legs could carry you and then further, until you got to your shitty apartment. When you didn’t see Bro you’d exhaled, hiding yourself in your room to catch your breath and think. Windbreaker? What could he do for you? He barely looked a day older than you! Lying in your bed, you scowled at nothing until your breathing settled enough that you could go to your computer. Once you were logged in, it took no effort to get into the quirk database and snoop around, thanks to Bro constantly tracking heroes in the city.

What you found wasn’t all that surprising. He was a student at UA, you knew he hadn’t looked that old, and he was a good one at that—not the best, but not at risk of failing anytime soon. His quirk was called Tornado Hands, and he had a promising future in heroism thanks to it’s versatility—he’d be able to serve as both a fighter and protector. But what did he want from you, and why did he think that he of all people could save you? It was stupid, foolish, childish.

But despite that, you’d never in your life felt so hopeful. 

==>

Several days passed since your run in with the young villain you’ve fixated on, and you’ve since concluded that you really fucked up. Immediately after the meeting, you’d made the decision to not tell any of your teachers. After all, for years they’d insisted there was nothing they could do, and some part of you was scared that apprehending the boy would end up with him treated as one, even if you were sure he was a victim. But you’ve come to realise that if it took you years to see him once, the chances of you ever running into him were so pathetically low that you might as well say it was impossible. 

You’re in your dorm, trying to study while focused on your failures when the email comes. It goes to your UA account, the same one school closures and newsletters went to, but it isn’t from the school. It comes from an unfamiliar name, a turntechgodhead, and you open it curiously. 

“windbreaker  
meet me outside the pizza place near UA at 4 tomorrow  
you know the one  
dont bring anyone else  
still want to play hero?”

You know immediately that the smart thing to do would be to go to your teachers. Some part of you is convinced that somehow, using your hero name, the not-villain had tracked you down and wanted to meet. But you’re so excessively optimistic, and some other part of you is aware that any old villain could show up there and seriously hurt you—even having backup watching from afar would be safer. Too bad you weren’t particularly smart.

==>

You don’t know why you want to meet this hero again. This was a bad idea. What if he brought his teachers? What if Bro found out? If you were smart, you’d stand him up, and you’d stay home nursing your wounds and drawing comics on the living room floor. But you felt impulsive and stupid after that strife with Bro, and you knew some part of you wanted to slip-up and see what would happen.

==>

The next day comes quickly, the sound of birds chirping in the distance audible when you sit up. When you used to live at home, it’d be the sound of foot traffic that you’d hear, people bustling from store to store on their busy morning errands. But at UA, civilians were kept far away from the vulnerable student population. Luckily, that meant nobody saw you slip out the window wearing a hoodie and baggy sweatpants over your hero costume, provisional license tucked neatly into your shoe. 

Technically, nobody would have stopped you from going out the dorm normally—it was a weekend, and curfew wasn’t until ten at night. Plus, once you’d actually made your daring escape you just left through the security gates normally anyway. But some part of you was sure if one of your friends or a teacher asked where you were going, you’d crack and spill the whole story. Better safe than sorry. 

And the villain was right—you did know the pizza place in question. There were two in the area. A Pizza Hut and a local business. It was unanimously decided that the local pizza shop, proudly named “Pizza” was far better in every way. Therefore, you were sure if this villain was from around here, he would want you to go there. Upon approaching the shop your suspicions were confirmed, that striking tuft of blonde hair and those secretive shades on his face.

“You know, if you’re trying to act like some sort of American celebrity by hiding behind sunglasses, you’re only making yourself look more suspicious.”

He jumped like he hadn’t been expecting you, and despite the seriousness of the situation you couldn’t help but laugh just a little while he scowled at you. “Jesus, _fuck_ , try not to sneak up on a guy hey? I already ordered by the way, you better like corn.”

You nodded passively, although food wasn’t much on your mind as you followed him inside, tucking yourselves into a private booth near the corner of the shop. The store had just opened, and clearly nobody else was interested in pizza for breakfast, as only a pair of tourists were in the store, giggling and talking quietly among themselves as they looked at a map of the area. Finally, you turned to look at the blonde sitting across from you. “What’s, uh… Do you have a name I can call you? Mine is John, so you can stop calling me windbreaker all the time, because that name is kind of stupid when you’re just talking.”

He hesitated, and you almost thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he shrugged and leaned back. “Yeah, kinda is, ain’t it John? You can call me Dave.”

==>

You can’t believe you _told him your name_. It may not have been your last name, but it was still more than enough for John to dig up information on you. Even having been touched by his willingness to share his name, you knew he hadn’t really given up anything of importance—if he was smart he would know that wherever you found his email would have his name too. You felt stupid, and though you tried your best to hide it, you could _see_ John’s concern when the pizza arrived and you began to shovel a slice into your mouth to stop yourself from speaking much longer. Comparatively, he ate like a normal person, and you wondered what he was thinking.

==>  
Did this guy not eat or something? You’d never seen someone eat a slice of pizza with such passion. It made you hungrier just looking at him.

==>  
Your brief moment of panic passed soon enough, and rather than go for a second slice of your shared pizza you lean in on your elbows, eyeing John. You had to admit, he was a fairly attractive guy, he’d make a popular hero with those bright blue eyes and that messy, wind tussled hair. But he wasn’t your friend, and you weren’t about to let him charm you.

Voice dropped to a whisper, you gesture for him to clean in closer. “You want to save me, don’t you?” He nodded eagerly, eyes growing wide, but you reached out to shush him, “you fucking can’t. But you can help me, alright? You’re right, I ain’t cut out for villainy, but if I make a run for it the real villain will ruin my life.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed, a scowl threatening his features. “We have protection programs though, you’d be safe-“

“No, you dense fucker. You really think they’d care about me? I’m no innocent victim here, I helped him get away, I let him _kill_ people, people with families. What I want won’t matter, only what I did.” 

He sighed long and low, giving one short, curt nod. “Alright. I believe you. What do you need?”

==>

If you were being honest, you felt a lot less like a hero in this moment, and more like a trendy young person who hadn’t gotten a good enough job yet to afford normal furniture but who desperately wanted to move out. As you’d eaten the pizza, Dave had explained in vague terms what his quirk was and how he’d been forced by his older brother to become stronger so they could get away from heroes quickly. Then, he’d slipped you a pile of money—more than you’d ever held in your life—and explained quietly that he had seen an apartment for rent on the other side of town and he wanted you to get it any way possible and supply it, so you both had somewhere private to meet, and he had somewhere to hide.

You’d been skeptical, and frankly you’d felt dirty holding what you knew was stolen cash, but you’d promised you’d help him. Besides, your gut said you could trust him. As confidently as he held himself, you didn’t think he was nearly as collected as he presented himself. 

The apartment Dave had picked out was appropriately hidden away in a less well-off part of the neighbourhood, the houses built strong but old and a little ragged around the edges. It lent itself well to your quiet excuses, that UA students were starting to want their own safehouses for future use, and that you wouldn’t be living there much but it’d be clean and no illegal activity would occur. The landlord, whether glad for the large hunk of cash or simply trusting of your heroic status, was quick to let you sign over the small apartment. 

It took you most of the weekend, but you’d outfitted the area with basic necessities. Blankets, snacks, cheap furniture from nearby shops. The end result was erratic and messy, but it looked like a house, sort of, and that was what mattered. You stuffed the last of the cash in a loose part of the cabinets and finally, went back to your dorm, satisfied.

“okay dave, it’s all done.  
i’ll see you soon?  
stay safe.”

==>

You almost couldn’t believe he’d done it. Sure, you’d handed him the cash and you knew he was downright obsessed with the idea of saving you, but you thought for sure it’d be too much for him. You half expected some heroes to jump you when you walked into the safehouse, rather than the quiet and sparsely decorated one room apartment. But it was empty of people and full of erratic trinkets—clearly he’d just shopped for whatever could feasibly belong in an apartment. A small stool, a framed picture of a waterfall, a bed that had one pillow and at least five blankets. You liked it, actually.

He was supposed to arrive once his last class for the day was over, giving you enough time to get comfortable before he walked casually in the door. “Ah, you’re here! For a second I thought you wouldn’t show up.”

You hummed, and he tossed a can of soda at you. “I thought you’d show up with half UA’s faculty to bring me in, we’re even.”

Rather than sit on the bed like you, or even on one of the mismatched chairs he’d found, John sat himself on nothing but air, hovering several feet away from you. He looked perfectly comfortable like that, and you were reminded of what it’d looked like when tossed you up into the air upon your first meeting. His quirk was interesting. But he was clearly deep in thought, glowering at his soda.

“No, you were right about what you said before. I was thinking about it, about how when I first saw you I wanted someone to do _something_ to help you, and they all acted like your fate was already set. And it was just money! Now, after everything… You could be tricking me, but I don’t think you are, and I think you’re right that they can’t help you. But I think I can.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for a hero to give a monologue, face set with determination and eyes steely. But most of the time they felt shallow and untrue, rife with larger-than-life promises and wishy-washy plans. Yet John’s speech felt real to you, humble and honest. And maybe you were just going soft for this dorky hero-in-training, but when he told you he didn’t think you were tricking him you had to duck your head to hide a bashful smile. The fact that he believed you was flattering.

He’d gotten closer without you noticing, until a soft hand settled into your hair and laughter reached your ears. “Oh, haha, wow! I just said I’d help you Dave, you don’t need to be embarrassed.”

He only made you flush brighter red, reaching out to push him away, “I’m only embarrassed because your dumb speech was so cheesy. It was second-hand, since you don’t seem to have any shame for the dumb shit that comes out of your mouth.”

“Oh, so you don’t want my help anymore?” John smiled, head tilting mischievously.

So you threw your only pillow at him, oddly proud of the solid thump it made when it hit him. “Of course I want your fucking help. I thought you were a hero! Now c’mere, I brought some stuff for you, lemme lay down the full plan I got.”

==>

Once Dave pulled out a plain looking file, you’d floated down to the ground and sat, craning to reach the papers. In response he shifted closer, close enough that your arms were touching, and then even closer until he was almost in your lap, letting you look over his shoulder to read the papers. “In case someone is watching,” he’d said, and you guessed it made sense, but it didn’t make it any less flustering to sit this close to someone. 

If he noticed how warm you were, Dave didn’t mention it, instead opening the file and pointing directly to the familiar face of the villain—the one he called Bro. “This is Timeaus. His quirk, flashstep, lets him move faster than time, but only for short distances, and he can’t be carrying much weight. He always says when he uses his quirk, it feels like just talking a big step, but I don’t know if that was just some bullshit he made up to make me feel bad about getting tired using mine.”

“And your quirk is a stronger version of flashstep, isn’t it? Because you can bring other people with you.”

He went still, like that had never occurred to him, and then Dave let out a soft ‘oh’ and put the file aside. A moment later, he shook his head, “nah, I don’t think so, that’d be dumb. Quirks only mutate from their parents. I don’t know mine, don’t know who they are at all, you know, so maybe I got mom’s and he got dad’s.” 

You couldn’t imagine not knowing your Dad, despite your mom having died in childbirth, so you only nod. If he was right, then you supposed that it was lucky for the world it was Dave who had the powerful quirk, but unlucky for him that he’d been used for so long in the name of evil and wrongdoing. In an attempt to comfort him, you reached over, gripping his hand tightly in your own. 

==>

After you’d admitted the full extent of your sad backstory to John, things changed between you both. He might have trusted you, but now you trusted him near unconditionally, sharing everything with him at the slightest prompt. It felt painfully freeing, to know that you could run away to your shitty little safehouse whenever you wanted, and as long as he wasn’t in class he’d show up in less than twenty minutes to clean your wounds and listen to you rant. In turn, you learned about him, about his Dad and his friends at UA and how hard all of his classes were and about how much they’d all like you.

You stayed together dangerously close to his curfew several times over the next few weeks, and you became comfortable being lifted into the air by his windy hands while he got over the vertigo of moving in a world stood still. It was exhilarating, and for the first time since you were a child there was something to look forwards to when you woke up in the morning.

Through it all, you fed John pieces of information about Bro, helping him build a report with the best witness he’d ever find. Like sharing your hard past, this too felt like catharsis, watching him methodologically type in information while you splayed across his lap, his computer nested on your torso. The plan was to slowly gather enough intel that John could present the information to the police, with the hopes that your part in taking down Bro and John’s insistence that you were innocent would be enough for them to grant you immunity for the crimes, despite your part in them. It was a long shot, but if you were careful enough you were actually hopeful it’d work.

But good things never lasted, not with someone like Bro around. Since you’d met John, he’d had to grit his teeth and bare it as Bro took you on several small heists. You knew it’d been hard for him to accept the inevitability of the crimes, to shrug and look away when he saw you standing there beside Bro. But this was different—it was one thing to rob a family owned jewelry store, another entirely to plan a heist of government secrets to use as blackmail. And it was too soon, you weren’t ready to face what you’d done and selfishly, you weren’t ready to lose what you had with John—you’d become attached fast. 

He came into the apartment frantically, door closed behind him as he rushed to your side, hands brushing slowly over your face. You exhaled, looking away from his worried gaze. Even with your glasses obscuring your eyes, you didn’t want him to see the fear etched onto your face as you slid a small slip of paper into his hands. “Bro wants government secrets. He’s already got access to the quirk database of current pro heroes, but he wants the retired ones too. Wants to kill them and make chaos. These are the coordinates to where he’s hiding.” You could feel John trembling, the weight of him sitting beside you heavy. “I won’t be there, but he might, and if not, all his dumb bullshit is covered in fingerprints, you can finally get a lead on who he was before-“ you gestured your hands wildly, “all this. And it’ll disrupt him enough that you’ll have time to tell someone. Probably your principal or something, yeah?”

John frowned, nodding, the paper hed carefully in his hands. “He’ll know what to do. I’m… I’m glad you told me Dave, all those heroes…” You nodded, and he smiled sadly, “you really aren’t a villain. I always knew, but you aren’t at all. But where are you going to go?”

You shrugged, squeezing his leg. “Somewhere. Not here, ‘cause if I get caught… It won’t matter, I’ll be arrested. But I’ll keep an eye on you, I’ll come back for you again.”

He pulled you into a hug so tight you could barely breathe, but you hugged back just as tight, feeling the paper crumble and his shoulders shaking. Muffled by his skin, you’d spoken quietly. “Of course not. Never wanted this, wanted to own a ramen shop.” His shoulders shook at that, halfway between laughter and a sob, your own eyes stung with tears when you blinked. 

You sat there for a long while, until you knew John had to go if he wanted to put a stop to this plan, until you knew you had to run if you ever wanted to make it. His cheeks were splotchy and red, but he’d forced a smile so broad it shone. “Maybe you can make me a bowl of shoyu ramen sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

==>

When Dave had left, you’d rushed back to UA, catching your principal just as he was leaving. It’d only taken a mention of government intel and Timeaus to set off a chain of reactions so rapid it left you dizzy, dragged along for the ride thanks to the piece of paper clutched tightly in your hand.

With such a high alert security risk, all government agencies forcefully shut themselves down, completely turning databases off to prevent outside access. All the pro heroes in the area emerged as well, some familiar as your teachers and others only familiar from seeing them in the streets or on TV. With such a whirlwind of activity you were surprised no media had arrived, but they were blissfully unaware of what was happening—the only suggestion that something might be afoot being the now offline hero databases.

Just like Dave had predicted, there was nobody there when the pro heroes (accompanied by you) had broken into Bro’s apartment. But it was clear that you’d gotten the drop on him thanks to Dave—the entire place was in disarray, and when the forensics team arrived they were overwhelmed by how much evidence they had to process. On the way, you’d shared everything you knew about Dave and Timeaus and their relationship, from all the way back to when you first saw them, to your fateful meeting with Dave, to the subsequent hideout you’d made for him, and finally you’d reiterated all you knew about the government. They were absolutely pissed with you, understandably, even threatening expulsion, but you didn’t care—for years you’d been trying to get their support and they’d ignored you, and this had always been your act of heroism.

After it became clear that Bro had long since fled, you’d quietly left the area. You knew tomorrow you’d need to give a proper report to the police, and then you’d present the file you and Dave had made and do your best to prove his case as a victim.

==>

Two weeks had passed since you’d left John behind, escaping into the countryside to wait for everything to die down. You’d kept painfully close tabs on him, near stalking your hero to make sure Bro didn’t try to exact revenge against him. But at least for now, it seemed he too had fled the city, if the police searches indicated anything. As for John, he narrowly managed to avoid expulsion thanks to his efforts _stopping_ the senseless murder of multiple heroes, although he’d been delegated to a stricter curfew and toilet cleaning. You supposed for all its faults, UA could pride itself on having incredibly detailed reports on its students.

Your status as a wanted criminal still stood, but the chief of police had taken the file John had prepared. You could only hope everyone was as charmed by him as you were.

But each day that passed was lonelier, and it took barely any time for you to crack, senseless and aching to see him. You’d snuck back into the city in the dead of night, camping out on a building near your safehouse in the hopes of finding him. It was a long shot, but one much safer than trying to toss rocks at UA dorm windows.

To your luck, he arrived a little after noon, approaching the doors to the safehouse so suspiciously it made you laugh. 

“John, Windbreaker!” You’d yelled at him from the top of the building, waiting for him to find you. When he had you saw him wave his arms, and then easily float up into the air above the alleyway. Immediately, you held out your hands to stop him from coming closer, while he looked on with wide-eyed confusion. You pulled off the aviators perched on your face, and tossed them carelessly away from you, feet teetering dangerously on the edge of the building. “Save me, hero!”

The smile on his face was giant and beaming, the last thing you saw before you leaped from the edge of the building and squeezed your eyes shut, before the soft caress of windy hands buoyed you up. When you opened them again you were floating effortlessly in the air, and John’s real hands—his flesh and blood ones—were cupping your cheeks warmly. “Like that, Dave?”

“Yeah, just like that, you goddamn persistent fucker. You proud of yourself?” He’d laughed, face expressing the same giddiness you felt at seeing him, before he leaned in to kiss you hard. It was your first, both with him and in general, but it was neither unexpected nor unwanted and you melted right into it without a second thought, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. In response, he laughed against your lips and pressed close to you, not an inch of space between your bodies as you clung tightly to each other. 

When he finally broke the kiss, John didn’t let you get far, hands sliding down to hug around your waist, a dreamy smile spread across his features. “I thought you were running away?”

“I was,” you shrugged, looking away shyly, “but I realised, I didn’t want to lose you, and you’ve kept me safe so far, why would I run away from that? Besides, you’re real good at this hero thing. You ever considered doing it as a job?”

John’s nose crinkled in amusement, squeezing you. “Hmm, never really considered it…” You’d both laughed again, until John leaned in and quieted you with another kiss.

While you might not have been running away, you’d still have to hide. Your only source of income was all the money you’d stashed from Bro, and not a cent of it was rightfully yours any more than it was his. And you were still a wanted criminal, at least while John was still buttering up the chief of police. But you’d rather hide in plain sight and still be able to see John than dare live a life without him.

**Author's Note:**

> and then dave opens his ramen shop and john gets a job at a good hero agency and bro gets caught trying to rob a corner store without his pet project the end
> 
> anyway my pet peeve has always been when japanese anime settings are blatantly americanized but these characters are american ripped and copy pasted into the japanese anime bnha setting which is japan-but-not _anyway_ because so its purposefully vague in that way. but like, they also dont talk about blatantly western trends and memes so i think im doing pretty alright TBH


End file.
